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Rule Number 2
Jason drops onto the rooftop deep in Gotham’s sixth ward, also known as the Narrows. To some, the sixth ward is a sign of the city’s tragic cycle. A new era, followed by dark days, a rebirth followed by stagnant promises that are always neglected. But to people like Jason, people who weathered the cold nights to see the sun rise, who saw the good that clung heartily despite the bad, it was still home.
The building across the way is home to those people Gotham forgets. It's aged, old brick crumbles here and there, and the flickers of a busted street lamp are the only thing keeping long shadows at bay, but it's still standing. Several of the windows are open to the night, revealing units without tenants for who knows how long. He sees a flicker of movement from one on the seventh floor. An orange curtain moves back and a slim teenager climbs onto the fire escape.
Keeping informants like this isn’t exactly the Red Hood’s style, but he met CJ under extraordinary circumstances while tracking a gang of thieves who stumbled into a turf war. Jason recognized the specific blend of bravado and fear in the kid’s brown eyes when he announced CJ had a very important decision to make. CJ had been fourteen then, a desperate kid who didn’t mind being paid to keep watch while grown men committed crimes. Now CJ keeps an eye out for things in the neighborhood, things out of the ordinary, things too strange for the cops. It was a safer life for him. Jason made sure of that.
Jason settles onto the railing. “What do you have for me, kid?”
“Get the fuck on, man!” CJ gasps, clutching his chest.
Jason chuckles, scanning the area. No signs of prying eyes after CJ’s muffled shriek. CJ takes a deep breath and wiggles his shoulders.
“I’m serious. You can quit that spooky Bat shit any time, Red, no one’s afraid of you here.”
Jason tilts his head. “I must not be doing my job.”
CJ frowns reconsidering his words. “Well, a lot of people are, but I’m not. Feel free to stop anytime now.”
“Alright, alright. Force of habit.”
“Yeah. I guess you need to get around quietly,” CJ concedes. “You guys must be trained by ninjas.”
“Something like that,” Jason says vaguely, thinking about his time with the All-Caste, Bruce’s time in Japan. Hell, even Cass and Tim’s extra-curricular time with Lady Shiva. “You said you had something for me?” He continues before CJ starts in on his questions, always centering on training and how you got to help the Batman.
“Yeah. Okay. I do.” CJ smooths down his shirt regaining the last of his composure. He leans over the edge of the fire escape, a pensive look on his face. “Something went down at school today. Some seniors, a guy and a girl, they were caught inhaling this … this stuff in the bathrooms. It was bad. I snuck in after the police left and there was this blue residue everywhere, like a smoke bomb went off. And later, everyone was saying it made them act all crazy.”
“Crazy how?”
CJ shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I didn’t see it. Everyone just said they was acting crazy. Tried to hurt themselves. Tried to hurt the teachers. Crazy shit like that.”
“Tell me everything.”
CJ can only add a few more details to the story, providing the students’ names, their local haunts, what crew they ran with in school and outside of school. He also sends three clear pictures of the bathroom to Jason's burner phone. Jason immediately sees the smoke bomb comparisons. An algae-tinged residue lingers on the bathroom mirrors and the sinks. The floor also seems hazy, blue smoke and dust, and spatters of blood.
"Is this everything?"
“I don’t know what else to tell you, man. Just, shit like that doesn’t seem right, you know? Unatural.”
Jason goes silent while considering the tale. It seems two parts urban legend and one part after school public service announcement gone wrong. CJ’s face tells the true story, expression pensive, afraid, and resigned all at once. He looks like someone who knows nothing will happen because of it. Those kids might make it out of the hospital alive. They’re the first victims but they won’t be the last, and the root of this problem with fester then spread to choke the life out of people. It’s why Jason has Rule Number 2: be what the city needs, and right now, this part of the city, CJ, needed.
They didn’t need Batman to solve a crime, they need Red Hood to stop crime before it really got started.
“Okay, CJ. I’ll look into this.” He hands the phone back over. His own buzzes in his pocket. Jason fishes it out looking at the message: ‘strange case. need your expertise. call me.’ He ignores the way his chest seems to constrict from the simple request, or maybe it’s from the charming bullshit wrapped around the message. He responds with a simple message, ‘busy,’ before turning back to CJ. “Don’t go looking for trouble, but if you hear anything else, let me know.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” CJ says. “And thanks, man. You know, I thought about what you said last time. And I don’t think it’s wrong, if it stops people from getting hurt. You know what I mean?” Silence. “Hood?”
Looking to the left, CJ discovers the Red Hood has disappeared as silently has he had arrived.
“Damn,” CJ mutters. “How does he freaking do that?”
Rule Number 4
Sourcing viable leads is the meat of detective work. Jason spends the following day pulling everything he can regarding this new drug. He starts by checking in on the victims, both seventeen-year-old students who attended the Douglas J. Brown Magnet School for the Music & Arts. Even with their hospital and school records and a single juvenile complaint, there isn’t much to go on. Next, Jason combs through the past week’s reports from his own crew. The one he’d put together when he had plans of taking over Gotham crime from the inside out. No news of a dangerous drug entering Red Hood’s territory.
Spreading his search across the entire city nets him three other incidents, all occurring this week. A patron lost control and attacked her friend in a nail salon in just outside of K-Town. A restaurant in midtown reported a patron breaking into hysterical laughter before throwing his chair into the bar. His mugshot shows blue dust ringing his nose and mouth. The final incident was uploaded on a random InstaCam account titled, “Blue Smoke Monster Goes HAM.”
The clip is just twenty seconds long starting with a wild camera shot over a dance floor. There’s a slight film lingering in the air that Jason thinks is a fresh blast from the smoke machine. The camera swings to the left chasing a shout and Jason sees the smoke is spilling from the nose and mouth of a skinny uptown kid. The dull look in his eyes is quickly replaced by a transformative, laughter-filled rage. He dives into the crowd throwing bodies out of his way. Then the video ends. Jason takes an hour reading through the comments and branching links to and from the main video, but he doesn’t come across anything helpful.
An hour later, Jason discovers a link. Each person connected to the incident attended a comedy show in Harlan Gardens. The odds of only five people contacting the same dealer are small. He doesn’t have anything on the club.
Sighing, Jason kicks his feet onto his console. It looks like he’ll be piggybacking on the Bat’s research for this one.
He tunes into Batman’s communication channel while he works. Their voices rattle back in forth in his ear dropping in and out of the silence, which is interrupted by Oracle, who relays critical information across the band.
Tonight’s crisis seems to center on a power outage near Bay South, where both Blackgate and Arkham reside.
“Can you update us on the prisoner status?” Batman growls.
There’s a pause before Oracle starts talking. “Blackgate’s on lockdown. Security fully optimized and their backup generators are rolling. Arkham. Hmm.” A hard note enters her voice. “Arkham’s cameras are down. The monitoring system is broadcasting three distinct transmissions concerning inmate vitals, including heart rate and heat signatures. All the results vary. Some show patients in their cells, others are flagged as either on grounds or escaped. The security staff can’t take a headcount. Several of the security systems are in storm override. There's no clear way to tell who's in and who's out.”
“Batman, Wayne Tower,” Batman says beginning the roll call. “I’ll head to the asylum. Blackbat and Robin with me.”
“Red Robin, Gotham City South.”
“Batgirl, Robinsville.”
“Batwing, Burnside bridge.”
“Nightwing, Gotham Industrial park.”
“Arrives in town without so much as a hello,” Oracle says. “He used to be such a nice boy.”
“Hello, O,” Nightwing replies dutifully. “Just in town for the night following up on a lead. But I’ve got a box of goodies with your name on it.”
“You always knew how to get a girl’s attention.”
“Stay focused,” Batman says, voice curt.
“Like a laser, B,” Nightwing replies, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Anyone else joining this party?”
Jason’s finger is on the push-to-talk before he realizes. He draws in a breath ready to say something, anything to challenge the hope in Dick’s voice. Batman beats him to the punch.
“This is our team.”
“Keeping the cavalry on standby, huh. Good plan, B.” Nightwing’s cheek earns a stifled laugh from somebody, and Jason rolls his eyes.
It’s only then that Jason realizes how tense he’s become, how close he came to breaking his self-imposed rules. One of the most crucial: Keep out of family business.
“Rule number four,” Jason mutters to himself. He has his own mission. Becoming entangled in something Batman and his lackeys are on always leads to trouble. Then a fight. Then more trouble. Stick to the rules should probably be his first rule, but he has something more important, more visceral reserved for that slot.
Focused returned, like a laser beam, Jason’s his attention turns to his task.
Sneaking into the Batcomputer is easy enough with enough patience, and Jason has done it enough times without being compromised. He’s surprised to see nothing concerning these incidents, not even a mention of a possible new drug entering Gotham City. It’s odd. The Bat is typically six months ahead in terms of information gathering and thread following. He doesn’t find information concerning the comedy club either. No nefarious underground ties, no mob interactions, not even a red notice for monthly rent or utilities, which might have been a red flag if the books Jason searches didn’t seem so neatly ordered or the accountant so clean she can probably refract light.
Jason stands stretching the last bit of tension from his body when he receives an encrypted text. The main screen wavers as a program begins running automatically, tracing the message's source and message’s pathways, while decrypting the text. Jason taps play once it is pronounced safe to view.
The message is from Kodiak Sol, a premium distributer Jason has made acquaintance with through one of his aliases. Kodiak is hosting a launch party for a new designer drug for clients who know “an amazing investment opportunity with astounding growth potential for ground floor investors,” which is such bullshit but also impressive. The marketing class Sol started taking last year is definitely coming in handy. The final line is personal, asking “Red” if he’d like to join the "tremendous" event.
Jason grins.
It looks he has his own party to attend.
Rule Number 5
Jason never learned the art of infiltration during his time as a glorified moving target at Batman’s side. Whether it was by design or by Jason’s fortune blasting off to someplace greater, he'd never found out. Talia al-Ghul’s training corrected this as well as what she considered many neglected aspects in his vigilante education. Jason had spent hours with various assassins, conmen, and actors learning the tools of the trade, and siscovered, as with many other things, he was quite skilled.
Infiltration played to his strengths in some ways, allowing Jason to bring his methodical patience into play. He created detailed trails, built networks, and consolidated territories in the name of Red Hood. When a new drug hit the city’s west side and left bodies in its wake, Jason knew how he was going to get in, get the info, take out the rats, and get out. But Red Hood couldn’t go everywhere.
That’s where Red comes in. This persona is grounded in the fabric of the high-end part of Gotham’s drug trade that’s filled with flashing designer labels, fast cars, and polite conversations at gastropub brunches. Very different from how Hood stepped into the opposite side of town. It’s part of his plan to break links in the chain of distribution from the top down.
Jason sits in front of the mirror bringing Red to life. The transformation begins with graying his temples with soft wax and then stage makeup. He doesn’t do much in terms of prosthetics, but Jason does use painted silk to create scarring over his cheeks and nose. With only the slightest bit of facial tuning and make up, Jason becomes the aging hustler still looking to make a name for himself. The scruff on his cheeks really sells the look - that, and the bruise on his jaw he picked up last time he was in ‘haven. Adding a thrifted suit of pale gray and a bright silk shirt, and Red is ready to make a deal.
A high-rise in central Gotham is the designated location for the meeting. Jason arrives at the valet stand in a roar of engines and the flash of suicide doors. He takes the glass elevator that climbs up the building like a spine all the way to the top floor. From the penthouse balcony, Jason can see the Tri-River Building, Wayne Tower, and the green spread of parkland by the Riverwalk. The view is something spectacular.
Inside, the apartment is clearly staged. A quick search on his phone reveals the apartment is a hot listing on a major real estate broker’s webpage. Jason makes a note to investigate any ties to Kodiak Sol or the drug ring.
An oak bar lines the wall opposite the glass balcony entrance. Jason orders a drink before taking position at the edge of the small gathering. He recognizes most everyone in the crowd, all younger members of Gotham’s criminal underworld. There are a couple of important faces here, like Max and Bizzy who organize the Wiz Kids, a syndicate of Hudson U dropouts who cooked experimental drugs to keep the rave kids juiced. Carmine Jr. stands in a cluster of burly bodyguards, a sneer on his hound-dog face. The Falcone family has been trying to work their way back into business. Locking down a deal on a new drug could be the thing they need.
Jason grins. Pity it’s not going to go their way.
Finally, Kodiak spills into the front of the room. His great fur trails behind him like a bridal train.
“Welcome to the party, gentlemen. Tonight, you few will be provided with a special preview of a new investment opportunity that is poised to change the game.” He lifts his glass and receives a smattering of applause from several of the audience, Jason included. “I will turn over the floor to Ms. Linda Goldsmith, with whom I’m sure many of you have had pleasurable business connection.”
A statuesque blonde appears at Kodiak’s side. Goldsmith has established herself as the premiere pharmaceutical representative for Gotham’s underground. She brings the science and the charm.
“I’m going to jump right and introduce you to a product that, as Kodiak said earlier, can and will change your supply, distribution, and sales like nothing you’ve never seen. It’s called ‘The Best Medicine’ or TBM for short and it will knock your socks off.” She smiles then, the edges a bit too wide, her eyes too bright. “TBM is a designer drug that combines the euphoric sensations of freshly harvested opiates distilled down to their chemical markers and the effervescent sensation of nitrous oxide. But with the miracle of science, TBM has managed to mitigate the more hazardous side-effects while enhancing the drug's potency. Less risks, greater highs equal great returns for you, the future investors.”
A screen unrolls on the wall behind her. “But you don’t have to take my word for it. May I present to you a live message from the man behind the scenes.”
The projector clicks on. A great stretch of poured concrete appears on the screen. The camera’s focus fades out, swinging around revealing industrial equipment, three massive vats churning slowly. Jason’s eyes narrow.
“Are we ready for my closeup, Claudius DeVille?”
Jason recognizes the voice immediately. He forces his breathing to remain even, his shift casual. If he manages to bank the rage in his eyes, Jason isn’t sure. But it doesn’t matter. The audience stares at the screen in horrified fascination.
“The livestream is running, boss,” a dull voice replies. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Fantastic!” Pale white skin and a manic smile appear in front of the camera. “Gentlemen and ladies, ladies and gentlemen, gentle ladies and manly men, it is I, the Joker, your host for the evening.” The camera zooms out to show the Joker standing on a steel platform. He wears a white lab coat over his purple suit, a small tablet in his hand. To his left a chemical solution smokes gently. “This year, I’m entering a new market, your market, with the kind of opportunity you’ll simply die for!
“Laughter, as they say, is The Best Medicine, and my new drug will provide your customers with an endorphin rush that will keep them coming back for more. And now that we’ve seen the results of our clinical trials—” The Joker spins the tablet between his hands then shoves it towards the camera. It’s overlaid by a series of still screens featuring several graphs and charts in a parody of a clinical report. The screen fades back to show the Crown Prince of Crime staring stoically into the middle distance. “We can assure the correct doses for your clients to keep them happy, dependent, and most importantly, paying for years to come.
“But don’t take my word for it. We have a demonstration for you featuring a special celebrity guest….”
The camera pans to a giant cog that begins to turn lowering a struggling black-clad figure into the frame.
Jason’s hand clenches around his glass of single-malt scotch. The bruise on his cheek throbs.
“Coming to us straight from the mean streets of Bludhaven, the once proud partner of Batman and perennial thorn in our side, Nightwing!” He ends with a flourish as Nightwing comes to rest just above the vat. Nightwing is chained, and squirming as sways over the hot brown sludge.
A protest dies on Jason’s tongue before it can fly free.
No.
The two letters combine to create a rolling ball of denial. It’s such a round, penetrative sound that can be emphasized with everything. A hand clap, a foot stop, a shout, a whisper, a gunshot. There’s so much power in such a simple word.
Pity it never worked when it came to Dick Grayson.
Joker continues his spiel. “We first began working on TBM, we decided against the unsightly methods of drug intake. No needles, no grimy gums, just a gentle inhale.”
Joker leans over the railing and hauls Nightwing in. He shoves a small tube up Nightwing’s nostril, lights the end. Turquoise smoke circle’s Nightwing’s face. Ten seconds and Dick stops struggling, fifteen seconds and he’s inhaling deeply. Twenty seconds and Joker tears the gag from his mouth revealing swollen lips pursed to try and suck in the smoke.
“How do you feel, boy blunder?”
Nightwing looks up. The light reflects from his lenses. “I feel incredible,” he moans. Then he begins laughing, a strange high-pitched version of his normal infectious sound.
“And there we have it, folks! Our first ringing celebrity endorsement!
Jason steps further to the side and activates his mic. “O. Can you track a broadcast stream from this location?”
She responds immediately, voice strong. “I’m sure I can. What’s going on, Hood?“
"We have a problem,” he says, just as a mechanical monstrosity lumbers into view on screen. The robot is nearly eight feet tall. Its silver faceplate is splashed with white paint and a red grin. It picks up Nightwing, who laughs delightedly, and carries him away.
The camera pans to follow the metal giant. Its metallic footsteps ring on the metal stairs. Soon, it arrives to the far end of the floor where a fat rocket stands ready to launch. It’s so bizarre, something off the cover of pulp stories. The robot slings Dick onto the rocket and begins tying him down.
Rule number 5 is simple: Stay away from Dick Grayson. It’s also the one Jason seems to break the most. He wants to blame Dick’s stupid luck, the fact that he so often winds up in these kinds of situations when Jason is around. But that’s not the reason. Not at all.
“Hood?” Oracle’s voice changes. She must be viewing the feed.
“Don’t worry, O. I’m the cavalry, remember. Just get me the address and I’ll get him out.”
Joker scurries into the picture. He sweeps his gelled hair back into place and puts on another great smile. “The fabulous Miss Goldsmith will be taking orders for a first shipment. But I urge you to stay until the end of the hour and view the firework display we have planned to celebrate our new launch. You won’t want to miss this one, folks! Tell them, Nightwing!”
Giggling, Nightwing looks towards the camera. “It’s going to be a real blast!” he shouts.
Joker smiles fondly. “You know. I think I’m going to miss this one.”
The camera winks out.
Rule Number 1
There’s a timer counting down at the edge of the optical display inside Jason’s mask. He rolls into the chemical factory compound with twelve minutes on the clock.
Pentacle Chemicals looks no different from the other plants dotting the concrete landscape. The security fence is ringed by barbed wire and illuminated by sweeping lights. The gate security seems normal, engaged in observing a looped feed that assures them everything's A-Okay and a madman isn’t about to blow the entire block sky high.
“What do you got for me, O?”
“The team is in or around various locations surrounding Arkham. We’ve rounded up a strange assortment of escapees this time.”
“But not the Joker.”
“He’s still appearing in his cell.”
“Fuck that,” Jason growls. “He’s here and he has N.”
“I know. B is on his way to the cell to see how—”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Sorry, O, but I don’t want to hear it. There’s only one way to make sure he can’t terrorize the us or the city anymore.” And Jason knows he’s the one who will have to end this cycle. For a while, he thought it was his only purpose, the one reason he crawled out of the grave. It’s why he has Rule Number 1: if you see the Joker, take the shot. “When I’m done, no one will have to suffer him. No one will fear him, not anymore.”
“Batwing is on his way,” she says, ignoring him or maybe, just maybe, Barbara understands the sentiment too well. “He should be there in fifteen.”
“I’m getting him out of there now.” Jason turns off his link to the communication band and starts toward the plant.
Entering the grounds and the building is easy. Jason stays low in the shadows as he finds the manufacturing floor. The room is empty, surprisingly. He makes it all the way past the seething vats to the rocket without incident. Jason takes in the small launchpad and the way Dick is strung across it like a sacrificial lamb on the alter. One that can’t stop giggling apparently.
Three robots patrol this area of the floor, eyes wheeling slowly. Jason disables them with sticky EMP grenades. So much for security. He swings down to the ground rolling behind the bomb and starts undoing Dick’s bindings.
Dick isn’t as out of it as he thought because his voice is soft when he says, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite hero here save me. I knew you’d come, Batman.”
Jason jerks. “I’m not Batman,” he hisses.
Dick giggles. “I know. I said it because it’d make you mad. You’re kinda hot when you’re mad. I came here to see you tonight because of that. And say sorry. For punching you,” he adds as Jason rounds to the other side. “You usually block those hits.”
Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he jabs a detox agent against Dick’s neck and jams his thumb on the applicator. It’s a painless transferal method, but it makes him feel better.
“Oh no,” Dick says, voice breathless. “Hurry.” Jason releases his left foot and wrist.
“What’s the rush?” He asks watching Dick slide of the rocket’s edge. He dangles helplessly while a wet splash hits the ground.
Jason sighs. “I guess I should’ve known that would happen.” He takes careful steps around the other side to avoid Dick’s vomit and frees the original boy wonder.
Dick sways unsteadily on his feet. His normally tanned glow looks faded, skin sallow. A now familiar blue residue smears around his nose and lips.
“It’s okay, Hood. I got this.” Dick takes one step forward, a second, and for a second he resembles the young man Jason had so closely emulated, his stubborn will carrying him through whatever the universe throws at him. And just as swiftly, Jason is that boy again, watching his hero walk away from him. Then Dick stumbles before falling to knees doubled over and retching. Jason pulls him neatly backwards before Dick face planted into his own sick.
“I’m going to do you a favor, Nightwing,” Jason says, tugging him by the hair, exposing the thin line of his throat. He slaps a patch there. “I’m going to spare your dignity and render my assistance without your begging.”
Dick groans. “Don’t need you.” He breaks into a chest-rattling cough, allowing Jason the time to unclench his fist because that hurt. “Don’t need you to. Just help me get out of here. Hood. Please.” A strained giggle escapes him.
“I already told you. You don’t need to beg me.” He tosses an enzyme capsule over Dick’s puddle then lifts Dick into his arms. While he can claim a few inches and a more solid build than Dick, the guy is no fainting daisy. Still, Dick feels slight like this when he moans softly and buries his nose against Jason’s neck without a single word of protest. Jason carries him through the warehouse shadowed corridors and corners until they reached the southern balcony. “How did you get in here?”
“The southeast entrance. No sensors. No wires,” Dick says. Jason balks at the window before stepping back away.
“You mean an engraved invitation? How dumb can you be?” Jason ducks back into long patch of shadows. “Don’t answer that.”
“He was expecting Batman,” Dick says, laughingly. “Not me.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah. But he caught you. Not him. Seems like he won that round.”
Suddenly, a loud click sounds from the speaker system. Music starts to play, a classic crooner song that Jason knows. His grandfather liked to play all the greats from the Rat Pat, but he enjoyed Dino the best. Jason did too until this moment.
“Powder your face with suuunshine,” croons a mellow voice. “Put on a great big smile. Make up your eyes with laughter ."
The Joker’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Knock knock!”
Dick, the loopy bastard, gasps, then cries out, “Who’s there?” while Jason curses him solidly. He’d rather be fighting Dick than fighting this strange, high version who hooted and squirmed in his arms.
“That’s what I always liked about you, Nightwing. You always knew how to take a joke. Your laughter. It was like a fine spring rain, the steady ride cymbal to accent my excellent timing.”
Jason’s hands tightened around his gun. Just hearing the mad cadence of that voice, the rising intonation and the violent fall to a bass sotto still made his body tense. But an overpowering rage flared within him. He just needed to find the bastard. And then the Joker would pay, for this, for everything.
“Your near escape has changed tonight’s entertainment schedule but do not worry. The show will go on!” In the distance, the rocket lets out a belch of smoke.
“Where are you, you sadistic, third-rate sonovabitch!” Jason shouts, twisting his head desperate for motion. One shot. That’s all he needed. And he’s ready for it.
“Ah. The pretender is here? I’m honored.” The Joker’s voice dipped low with menace. “You won’t find me today, kid. Not that I care to meet such uncultured swine on such an auspicious day. I mean, third-rate. Really?” His voice changes becoming insanely pleasant all at once. “I do have a lovely parting gift or you though. And maybe you’ll have a change of heart when I have it on my dinner plate this evening.”
A brackish blue smoke begins spilling from the emergency sprinkler system. More robots appear with the painted faces and swirling eyes.
“Now everybody sing!” The Joker’s voice drowns out the recording.
“The future’s brighter when hearts are lighter. Smile, smile, smile! ”
When the music ends in a cheerful swell of major chords, the robots begin to move. Their bladed hands begin to whirl.
“Jay,” Dick whispers, curling tighter.
“I don’t like it either. Can you handle some evasive maneuvers?” he asks.
“What’s that—whoa!” Dick laughs when Jason springs to the side. A heavy metal console smites the ground where they once stood. Jason’s roll ends with Dick sprawled over his chest. The space between his shoulder and neck is the perfect rest for Jason’s elbow. Two shots and two of the robots explode in a shower of sparks.
Three more appear in their place. Five. Thirty. An entire army.
Jason gets up to his feet and holsters his .9 in a fluid motion. He lifts a heavy revolver in its place. The slugs send the nearest bot staggering backwards. The targeting reticle in his mask spins, and Jason grins. He lets loose another two rounds, one to a wrist made of metal and carbon cable that dislodges the bladed hand. The second kicks the blade into the bot to their immediate right. Jason takes off running, Dick’s legs curling over his hips. Metal squeals and churns. Explodes.
Dick squirms to see the carnage. “Wow.” He says that a lot. And by a lot, Jason notes Dick says it every time he manages to trick shot them out of danger. Every time Jason narrowly avoids getting them both killed. “Wow. Wow. Wow.” Each utterance makes the band around Jason’s chest constrict tighter and tighter. Because each clip he lays down is a waste of training, a waste of the moment. Each bullet that drops a painted monstrosity brings home that it’s not the one he needs to take down.
Glancing around the room, Jason sees the bay doors are sealed shut and the rooftop is covered with steel netting. He races for the stairwell, Dick bouncing at his hip. He thinks he’s in the clear when a sharp grip burns around his ankle. Jason falls clutching Dick close to him. The impact rocks through his joints. His head bounces against the metal stairs and again on Dick’s knees. Dick’s groan dissolves into painful laughter.
A blue spark lights the air around them. Jason turns just in time to see an escrima stick get shoved into a Joker-bot’s eye socket. Dick lunges, punching it deeper. The robot shudders and bends, disabled. Jason wrenches his leg free.
“Whooaaow!” Dick drawls when Jason staggers to his feet.
“Yeah. You did it. Thanks,” Jason says, wincing as he continues up the stairs.
Dick looks up at him, a pleased smile on his face. It’s interrupted by a burst of fresh laughter.
Jason staggers onto the catwalk only to find a line of robots trundling towards them from the left and the right. There’s a chain winch dangling midway between both lines. Jason sprints there, then halfway twists a chain around his wrist. “Hold tight,” he says, the only warning he gives Dick before taking a running leap from the balcony. Dick’s fingers dig into his leather jacket as they go sailing over the floor.
Jason shoots the catwalk’s support pins as he swings away. It groans ominously before crashing to the ground, taking their pursuers with it. At the apex of his swing, Jason pinpoints the release valve and sends a slug that way. It slams through the button and the vats begin to tilt releasing their molten contents on the floor. There's another excited yelp from Dick. His "wow" carries to Jason's ears when Jason’s bullet cascade drops a heavy beam onto the rocket’s head sending it crashing to the ground
One by one, the robots begin to crumple under the wave. He and Dick land safely at the north catwalk just as the alarms start blaring. Jason sends the all clear signal over the communication band while Dick surveys the carnage beneath them. Points to something in the distance.
“Wow!” Dick says it again. “Jay. You’re like. Magic.”
Jason snorts. “Oh yeah, that’s me. A regular wizard of guns.”
“Now let’s get out of here.”
Rule Number 3
Jason takes Dick to his closest safe house because he’s still in the middle of this strange trip despite having the detox agents administered. Jason can’t secure him on the back of his motorcycle long enough for a trip to the Cave or to Bludhaven. And he’s sure as hell not leaving the motorcycle behind.
Because he’s not that big of an asshole, Jason provides a short report over the channel, starting with the high school incident to arriving at the chemical plant. He then spends the drive to the nearby area where the safehouse is housed fielding questions from Batman, Oracle, Robin, Red Robin, everyone except for Batgirl and Batwing, who, frankly, have held the dubious distinction of Jason’s “favorites” for this exact reason.
Batman delivers the worst news while Jason’s rounding a corner. “After the power returned, the staff did a headcount. The Joker was in his cell despite our conflicting reports. And because of the variations in the readings, they chose not to implicate him in an escape attempt.”
“What does that mean?” Jason growls, fury rising.
“It means that the Joker will not be under consideration for maximum security confinement when the facility makes recommendations after this incident.”
Jason understands everything Batman isn’t saying. Arkham’s staff can’t confirm Batman’s story that the Joker truly escaped, and they’re not willing to pursue it further. In fact, they’re about to write it off as a computer error. The threat the madman presents to the city and this city cannot be contained, and the only person who doesn’t want to admit it is the one leading them in a futile battle with madness.
“Fuck!” Jason twists the throttle like it was a skinny white neck. “Fuck that and fuck you, old man. Red Hood out.” Jason cuts out the channel for the third time that night leaving only Dick’s sad laughter filling his ears.
This safehouse is simply an onsite apartment for an abandoned industrial storage facility. The four rooms housed one or two security guards, or perhaps a manager. The first room is long and narrow. The bones of old filing cabinetry reveal its office past.
Jason carries Dick through the far door, which opens to a small living area and kitchenette. He drops Dick into the only door in the short hallway.
“This is the bathroom,” he grunts, untangling Dick’s fingers from his hair. He swipes a blunt glass card over Dick’s cheek removing some of the dried blue substance. “Wash your face. Then we’ll work on figuring out what’s wrong with you.”
Maybe it isn’t the right thing to do. Maybe he should have offered to help, but outside of taking the sample, he thinks it’s better. It gives Jason time to breathe, time to put together a plan, where he’d been operating without one for most of the night in clear defiance to Rule number 3 on his list.
The kitchen is equipped with the essentials. MREs, oatmeal, protein powders, tea, an electric kettle, and an industrial grade junior chemistry set. Jason begins tinkering with the sample he took from Dick to discover the drug’s composition. Slowly, he becomes aware that thirty minutes have passed. He can still hear the water running in the bathroom. Jason opens the door to find Dick sitting on the shower floor. Glorified half tub was more like it. His wrists, arms, ankles, and thighs all bear a deep purplish discoloration from where he’d been strapped down.
"You alright down there?"
Dick's voice is cut by soft giggles. "Just hurt. Everything hurts." He nods towards the blue bath sponge by his feet. "Keep helping me
Jason knows he could just walk out the door. He can tell someone where they are, Cass maybe, then burn the place from his network. He doesn't. Jason kneels down and fishes the slippery soap from where it knocks against the drain. Dick tilts his head against his shoulder, barely moving as Jason runs the sponge over his body, only tensing when Jason’s hands smoothed over his hips. Jason drops the it. “You can finish,” he mutters, rising to his feet.
“I really can’t.” Dick laughs, but he reaches for the sponge and slowly draws it over his thighs, between his legs. He tosses it to the ground. He looks up at Jason from behind a thick curtain of hair. It doesn’t quite hide the glossy light still in his eyes. “Help me up.” He sighs when Jason does then enfolds him in a prickly towel. They shuffle into the back room that houses a sturdy futon, computer rig, and emergency entrance, not that Dick can see it, Jason thinks.
Dick’s scratches his chest with blunt nails. “My skin still itches,” Dick says, rubbing at the faint red trails. “It’s like the smoke is under my skin now.”
“It’s probably a side effect,” Jason says. “I got something that might help with that.” He drops down to tug the emergency kit he keeps under the bed. The small glass dispenser shines in the room’s lone lamplight. “This oil has a numbing agent. Should help.” He holds it towards Dick.
“You do it,” he says, pushing the bottle back. “Please.” This is the reason why Jason needs a plan. This is the reason why he doesn’t get involved. This is the reason he tries to stay away from Dick Grayson.
Jason stands and gestures to the bed. He pours oil into his hand and smears it over his palms before turning to find Dick stretched over the futon on his belly. The towel is puddled by his foot. He keeps his movements efficient, coating Dick’s shoulders, arms, and back while the other laughs lowly to himself.
“What is up with your elbows?” He grumbles. “It’s like putting oil on a tree stump some lumberjack mauled.” That earns him a giggle and snaps some of the tension in his body. He travels down Dick’s spine to his lower back, over the perfect swell of his ass, hamstrings and calves. Dick rolls over without being prompted.
“I feel so much better,” he whispers, holding out his arms. Jason starts there, following the long limbs to Dick’s near hairless pits and chest. Jason reapplies then tackles Dicks abdomen and the tops of his thigh, the soft flesh between them, ignoring how the laughter dies and a soft, sighing moan curls from his lips.
“Come here,” Dick says, beckoning Jason to him - so similar to the way Dick opened his arms to him the last time they saw each other. Before the sucker punch.
All the rules go flying from Jason’s head. He settles beside Dick on the cushions and pretends to act surprised when Dick rolls over and settles across his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming to get me. To rescue me.” He laughs, and this time it almost sounds genuine. “You know, I came to town to ask you about this new drug that was coming into Bludhaven.”
“Yeah. Sounds like you found the source.”
“I did, yeah. But you stopped it.”
Jason is gruff and bitter when he says they’re still going to experience this shit until the clown goes down.
"Jay."
"You don't get it. I was ready tonight. I could've put an end to this. I just needed one chance to take the shot. And now he's doubly protected and ready. He's going to keep coming after us, after you. It's not going to stop until someone stops him. Permanently."
"You think about this a lot, don't you?"
"Every goddamn day."
Dick goes quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is faint but sounds more there than it has since his rescue. “It was hard to think. The drug makes everything seem so fuzzy but also like you didn’t need it. It’s still hard to think.” Dick licks his lips. "But I think I was thinking when I was laying on that. I was strapped to a fucking rocket of all things, and all I could think about was—"
Jason’s entire body winds tight.
"—Is how I was glad it wasn't you there because—"
“You selfish son of a—” Jason bites back the words. “No. Dick. Stop.”
“We broke apart without you. I broke and some days I think, Jason, I think I’m still not back together again.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Some days, I’m afraid to fly. I’m afraid. And if you left us again, like that?”
Jason’s jaw works as he swallows back another round of explosive words. They sink into his gut, bitter and hot, but it’s Dick’s words burning his skin. He closes his eyes. “You think we wouldn’t fall apart without you? You don’t think we need you here? Don’t you think I need you here? Alive. The gigantic pain in my side.
“If you’re gone, who am I going to constantly measure myself against? Who am I going to fail to live up to? Who am I going to . .. . Can’t you see you’re my reason? I’ve chased after you my entire life. And.” He stops when Dick’s hand cups the back of his neck, long fingers splaying at the top of his spine, trembling but strong. They pull him closer until their foreheads touch and he can feel Dick’s whispered, “little wing,” against his lips.
“Jason. I didn’t know,” he says, and Jason closes his eyes.
“You weren’t supposed to know. I try not to think about it.”
They hold each other like that, sharing silent breaths until Jason can’t hold back anymore. The thing he’s always wanted to try. The one mistake he’s always wanted to make. The thing he’s been craving since he knew what desire was - Jason just does it. He kisses Dick, once, softly, their lips pressed together and Dick touches his face, tilts so their lips slide against each other and then it’s over. He slides down so he can rest his cheek against Dick’s chest.
After a long pause, one where Jason begins to shift and unload baggage from his psyche to make room for new things, Dick shifts beneath him with a sigh. “I think it’s okay now. Detox and your massage really helped,” he adds. “I can think now.”
“Yeah?” Jason asks, trying not to cringe.
“Yes.” Dick’s fingers trace his brow, his cheek, his lips. “I would very much like to do that again.”
“We’ve got to set some ground rules first.”
Dick plays with his hair. “Ground rules?”
“Yeah. Rules to live by. Key emphasis on the world ‘live.’ You should try it sometime.”
“As if Jason Todd, rule breaker has any experience with this kind of thing.”
“I do actually,” Jason says. They work too, even if he manages to break every one.
“Then by all means, start us off.”
Jason turns his head a little and presses his lips to Dick’s bare chest. “Rule number 1,” Jason says. “Never be afraid to fly, because I’ll always be there to catch you.”